the slide begins, but the garden is still alive.

      a soft hum, a busy hive

i try to not think often or much of the skinny
days to come.

      ~ comme ce, comme ca ~

                   i walk, and i cannot yet
see my breath grabbing onto icy air.

     < there, there >

breathe and take the river for a walk.

     the sedum is a pink flush against
     the translucent, jade green of the chrysalis.

this is far and away above fool's gold,
foolish girl, this is the real thing!

she lives beneath your feet, you can
     feel her shift and heave.  she dances
in the middle of the night, she
     leaves on the light.  and you wake.

          (close your eyes, say goodbye to the stake)

you hear her sing, an alone tune
and full of joy.  monarchs float,
full-throated and preparing,

                                           there is a journey to be had.

many argue over and feel certain they
     can see through the end and
                                           into the ever.

you need not fight, you carry the forever
     wrapped in careful packages inside

the spiral staircase and the honeycomb cave.

when you enter, a million whispers to sweep
     you away.  the grains of sand, the soft decay.

and just when you think you are floating above it all.
     she sees you and says,

               "i know you, i know you, come and sit beside me ~ fold me into your hug"


but you will walk on, you know where your embrace belongs.

and then from the dream i was pulled.
i did not want to go, i was tired
and my nerves were a fiery ache.

but still, i was torn away and thrown
hurtling through time and space.



the first time i died, i was taken by the earth.
dirt filled my lungs, and sweet william bloomed
inside my rib cage.  birds alighted on my
white bones, and I became a home.

the second time i died, i was taken by the water.
the glacier found me and ate me up.  my skin
turned blue ~ all my thoughts, dreams,
and feelings were frozen in time and space.

the third time i died, my bones were crushed,
every part of me destroyed, so the fire was called.
i walked in slowly with relief.  all that i had been
was turned to ash and I became a new beginning.

the last time i die, i am guessing it will be the wind.
i will be swept and swirled away, taken up into the stars.
everything i am will return to that from which it came.
twinkling, silent rushes then I will become the dream.

lavender tea and the lightening to listen.

the warrior sets the perimeter,
he does not judge me,
he only ever loves me.

i can be kinder.
i can call the white roses into bloom.

i have known fine things.
net lace and dark mahogany, merlot in crystal.

i have know terrible things,
grenade words and earth too scorched to hold me.

someone i loved, stitched little
birds into linen.  they flew from
the fabric, making nests in her hair.

fledglings feeding from her shoulders.

she knew how to dance and sing.

she knew how to shoulder a loss so great,
it called her back to the beginning.

and in the deepest corners of my wondering,
the heron flies over me.

always.

11:11 and the 7, then the 3 follows me.

15, 15

stops my heart and aches me.

and the red-haired one?

he lays beneath the sunflowers,
and protects me day and night.

not many of us become angels or ghosts,
but he has become both.

a fháil dom? 

ní mór duit teacht ar an ghairdín.

i have taken the white road.
i am a ghost in this world.

i have walked through the prairie,
i have traveled the star spiral alone.

from a distance, i saw the storm
seed itself, so small and lonely.

it began to feed on all the sky,
it fed and it was hungry no longer.

no longer alone.

lightening in my spine,
thunder in my heart.

we lit the prairie on fire,
fire rainbow stretching across the sky.

i am not so proud, that i did not chase it.

whispers in my hair, you know i did
not catch it.

i did not catch it.

my hair is scorched, my soul is tired.

but there was nothing better than the
grasping and the gasping and the wishing.

and across from where i sit,
tears streaming down my face.

there, the curio sits, cradling
quiet treasures.

my husband's terra cotta army.

protection, baked earth.
no potter to form you.

formed in the fire.
from the fire.

while the fireplace flames.

above it, the copper
cage, and the nest where
all was born.

if you want to come with me.
you can.

the moon and the lightening.

i will dig you out of the
ground,

pine box to be your new home.

i will not leave you behind me.
you are forever inside.

we are driven by dusty bones.
by the ghosts in the ground.
by the spirit that haunts our soul.

my husband, before me.

he loved another and
with her he made a larder.

i smell cherries and chili
and chocolate.
red wine and black ink
on white pages.

black and white,
white and black.
grey fog, turning
but not back.

my love, hush . . . hush

i have found a babe in
the rushes and he sings

the same song in 10,000
tongues.

he is not
afraid.

because
he is
unaware.

life is lonely,

i have found it so,

but at the end of
a gravel road, where
mosqituoes and beetles,
butterflies and bees hang
deep and wide,

a fog

inside the flame.

the ocean interrupted.

and she brims with manatees.
singing, they rise to spray a hello.
they are more innocent than you.

and much, much
more innocent than me.

white roses, they bloom in
the back yard.

the swan in the
pond
+ 1

i had always considered the peacock.
and admired the rainbow plume

but in the quiet, timeless

i have found

the sparrow, the swallow
the heron.

the sparrow, the swallow.
the heron.

and the cardinal song.

red and white
black and white

grey

but not forgotten.

and the sky was orange and shocking pink,
smoky purple and black coal
smudged
across my grey mind.

bring me,
take me,
carry me,
home.

broken glass in your hands,
you don't flinch.

you kiss my forehead,
then my hand.

you hold my tired head,
on your strong shoulder.

and baby,
there is so much
to shoulder.

too many broken men.
too many nightmare dreams.


long . . .

long before the dawn.

my sisters and i hung in the air,
we stitched diamonds onto the
black velvet quiet with carbon
thread.

then with one warm whisper,
the night began to twinkle and
glow.

long . . .

long before i fell asleep
in the lilac and whippoorwill dream.

and awoke to the hornet
sting, and glass filled big
toes and gum entangled hair.

thin cotton nightgown,
dancing on white and black
plastic floors.

a river of dance,
before anyone cared.

when i leave here,
with yellow roses pinned
into my soul.  i will
pick up with wild wonderers
like the wind.


and i may remember nothing else
but i will always trace your name
into the dirt and the sand and the
hair of the children, as they play

and

cry.